These Arms
by Brookebynature
Summary: When Lucas leaves fiance Brooke for duties in the war, unknowingly pregnant, she is faced with raising their child alone. Lonely, the two seek comfort in the arms of others [Lucas' brother Nathan, and missionary nurse Haley.] BL. Longer summary inside.
1. Prologue

**SUMMARY-** _It's 1917, and when Lucas leaves fiance Brooke for duties in the war, unknowingly pregnant, she is faced with raising their child alone. Lonely, reassurance and unexpected help for Brooke comes in the form of Lucas' injured brother Nathan, and comfort for Lucas is sought in beautiful young missionary nurse Haley James. BL promise!_

**Author- **Emily-Grace Mendes (Brookebynaure)

**Disclaimer-** I don't own the characters, or One Tree Hill or the title because I've stolen it from Matt Costa's song, and I don't own the war either.

**A/N- **Okay guys, so this is the first attempt I've ever made at writing a story with a historical background, so to do it justice, I've been researching things about the war so that I have an idea of what I'm talking about. I hope the fact that this story is set during the First World war (It was 1917 when the Americans joined) doesn't put you off reading it. Here's the prologue, and depending on whether or not you're enjoying it, I'll continue :) Enjoy!

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**These Arms**

Prologue

"_A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.__"__-Ralph Waldo Emerson _

He kisses her on the station platform-not a kiss goodbye (because Brooke Davis has one hell of a ring on her left hand, and she refuses this to be a goodbye) but a lingering kiss, one that if they were alone right now, would almost definitely turn into something more.

The leaves of the trees are still a brilliant green, allowing flecks of sunlight to filter through onto the concrete platform, a bright blue sky above them indicating another hot Summer's day.

Her long brunette hair is pinned delicately into a bun, a few tentative wisps framing her face as he pulls back to look at her, knee-length dress blowing around her legs in the soft breeze. Red lipstick is smudged a little across her skin near her lips, and Lucas brushes it off with his thumb, young skin already tough from the days he's spend as a mechanic in his Uncle's garage.

"You'd better bring me something home." She tells him, as demanding as ever. War time hasn't stopped Brooke Davis' demands, and Lucas loves that about her. They don't bother to take note of anyone else around them-they have but five minutes and they refuse to waste it on noting their surroundings.

The fact that he might regret it later if she doesn't, doesn't even cross Lucas' mind. Another kiss on his wanting lips is enough to hold his concentration of only her as her hands reach around his back, finger tips clenching his uniform as she breathes in his scent.

She's beautiful, Lucas forces himself to say over and over, because he doesn't want to let himself forget just how she looks. Her skin is porcelain, untainted by the sunlight which she shields from herself by wearing a white bonnet tied with string around the neck. Her hands are always soft: moisturised with fresh oils that she saves her wages to buy, resorting to butter sometimes when there isn't enough money to fritter away on such unnecessary items.

They're totally different from one another-not just in looks, (she's pale and interesting, with dark shiny hair and almost green eyes. He's tanned and blonde-haired, with blue pools for eyes which she always tells him are her favourite.) but personalities and backgrounds too. She's from a wealthy family, residing in a large newly-built house with a front porch and windows with shutters. Her father owns a business on the West Coast, California, with huge potential to make a killing once the war is over. He's from a more humble background: his Mother working hard in a small café downtown, and his Uncle who lives with them owning a small garage. Their house is small, but comfortable enough for the three of them with a large fireplace in the living room which churns out heat in the Winter.

Lucas calls her his 'cheery', playing on the fact that she's always happy, and always smiling. Brooke calls him her 'broody', poking fun at the fact that he's always thoughtful, and much into reading classic novels that she finds hard to concentrate on when listening to him reading aloud to her.

Her parents haven't met him. They're not around much, her Father's business occupying much of their time. His parents have met her. He invited her for dinner one Sunday, and they all marvelled at the perfect curls of her hair and the rosy red of her lips. His Mother Karen had admired the pretty floral pattern of her dress and the starch white of the lace petticoat underneath. He remembers Brooke smiling, telling them that sometimes her father would bring back the latest fashions from glamorous Los Angeles, yet she saves them for special occasions.

She's wearing one of her best dresses today, Lucas notes. He recalls telling her that it's one of his favourites, because the emerald green of the soft cotton matches the flecks in her eyes. He's only wearing khaki.

"I'll bring you whatever you want." Lucas smiles, a hand sneaking along her leg until she grabs it, throwing her head back to laugh at his playful nature-the thing she'd discovered within him. He knows she prides herself on being the object of his affections.

"Anything?" She questions, eyes sparkling.

"Anything."

"Then bring me back a guy that's tall with dark hair." Her mouth curves into a smile and she continues, seeing how far she can go. "He has to have muscles though, I don't want a weedy one…"

"Hey!" He squints at her, a combination of the sunlight and fake hurt.

"Just kidding." She rolls her eyes, giggling at him.

They're interrupted by the guard blowing his whistle, a piercing shrill echoing through the platform as the girls all stand on their tip toes, even in their heels to kiss their respective men goodbye.

Lucas is sure that Brooke's the only one to whisper "Go get 'em gorgeous," after she's done with her lips against his for what must be the millionth time. He loves the fact that she's never shy about her affections, or prudish.

"I love you." He calls out to her, stepping onto the train as she fights her way to the edge of the platform, tears beginning to cloud her eyes.

"I'll miss you." She chokes, plain white handkerchief at the ready to wave him goodbye.

He manages to get to the window, his head hanging out along with everyone else that is lucky enough to get a final viewing spot of their life at that moment. Brooke blows him a kiss, giggling through her tears as he sends her one back, his lips forced into the smile he knows he has to give her in order for her to believe he'll be okay. It's the smile he has to give in order for_ him _to believe he'll be okay.

The last glimpse he catches of her, is the green blowing around her knees, the white handkerchief moving around frantically as she continues to wave, lips red as ever. He silently promises her their wedding when he returns, with whatever flowers she requests, and the after-party in the garden of her parent's home afterwards.

Yet for Lucas Scott and Brooke Davis, this is only the beginning.

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Hope you enjoyed that, please review for me xxx 


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N- **Wow you guys thank you so much for your lovely reviews! I wasn't too sure whether this story would be well-recieved, but I'm so glad that it has been, because I have lots of hope for it. As always, I hope you enjoy reading, and please don't forget to review at the end because you know how much I appreciate them :)

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**These Arms**

Chapter 1 

"_It doesn't take a hero to order men into battle. It takes a hero to be one of those men who goes into battle."-Norman Schwarzkopf_

They've dug the trenches, sweat pouring like a flow of salty water from foreheads, brows, underarms, backs and anywhere else that can possibly emit such substance. Lucas wasn't aware that he could feel such exhaustion in a relatively small amount of time. It's only been weeks since he left his home, and Brooke Davis, yet to him, the time until he returns home can't pass quickly enough.

He's many feet below the surface of the earth now-the soil, though dry and cracked from the late Summer heat, still feels cool against his back, the uniform he's wearing brown and scratchy from not being washed with any kind of detergent.

He remembers the smell of the laundry back home, and how the smell of his own clothes differed to those of Brooke. Hers would always smell like some kind of fruit, often strawberries or cherries, sometimes vanilla with a hint of something else that he could never quite fathom.

He still has the picture of her in his breast pocket, taken while they were first dating. She's smiling, displaying the dimples either side of her lips with wide eyes and hair curled in ringlets, surrounding her shoulders above dark material. The picture is black and white, so he can't tell the colour of her dress that day, but he remembers it was lemon. It was taken the day of the May day parade he had taken her to, a fair at night to commemorate the first day of the month.

They'd ridden the carousel and the ferries wheel, and he'd bought her a hot dog from the stand his friend was working. He'd won tickets on various stalls, testing his strength and aim, cashing them in at the end of the night for Brooke to pick whatever prize she might like. She still has the stuffed teddy bear in the middle of her bed, the light colour of its fur matching the white quilts.

He'd carried a bunch of daises to her door, holding them behind his back until she'd pecked him on his cheek and demanded to know what he'd brought her. They'd ridden there in his motor car, an old one he'd been working on with any spare parts that came his way after working his daily hours in his Uncle Keith's garage. Brooke had admired the soft leather of the seats, fingering the material as he set an arm behind her, and she'd inched closer, dangerously tugging the steering wheel towards her from time to time. She'd giggled at the look on his face. Then he'd been forced to laugh to.

He traces her face now, lips involuntarily curving into a smile as he tries to think what she might be doing, perhaps sipping lemonade on her porch swing, or trying to make the curtains she's been aiming to do for weeks. Lucas finds himself chuckling lightly, wondering whether the deep red material she'd picked out would ever get made into window decorations, or whether it would end up being taken to his Mother's house, a gift from Brooke for Karen to do what she pleases with.

Perhaps she'll make Brooke the curtains, smiling when Brooke thanks her, saying that it's the least she can do for her future daughter-in-law. There might even be enough left over to make a dress for a baby, Lucas guesses, remembering to the time when his Mother had told him that when he marries Brooke, she'd like to be a Grandmother.

He can't imagine anything better than Brooke having his child.

-

They haven't started fighting properly yet. France is a large country, and until the battle reaches what is currently their territory, all is quiet in the trenches. His sleeping area consists of a network of trenches, often easy to get lost in, with a large wide trench running down the side of smaller ones. The men have laid sleeping bags, issued by the army to cater for cold nights later on, along the ground of the earth, blankets for extra warmth, and for now, a somewhat comfier pillow.

Lucas tries not to remember the comfort of his bed back home, the appreciation of clean sheets and a soft mattress never really kicking in until now. He tries not to remember the nights he would lay on Brooke's bed, various decorative pillows surrounding them as she would tell him all about the day she'd had, and he would tell her about the cars of the rich men he fixed, or sometimes, he'd simply read to her while she snuggled closer to his chest.

From time to time, she would try to tempt him, the buttons of her blouse open to reveal underwear and soft skin. Lucas would always protest, telling her that if they waited until they were married, it would be more special. He gave in to her temptations the night before he left their small town, said he might regret it if they didn't, and that she was too much for him to resist anyway.

He remembers waking up the next morning, sheets pooled around their bodies as Brooke still lay sleeping, left hand with its ring on her fourth finger resting on his chest as her other hand lay underneath the pillow. His left arm was wrapped around her, a little numb from hours spend with weight on it, yet to watch her eyes flick open and that smile spread across her face as she whispered _"Good morning broody boy." _it made it all worth it.

"Hey Scott!" Lucas hears a voice shout, unable to identify it among whoops and shouts of apparent excitement among the other men above him. "Get up here!"

Tucking Brooke's photograph safely back in his pocket, a lingering hand to stroke her as if she were actually here, he makes his way along the network, climbing one of the wooden ladders he helped build in order to get to ground level.

He shields his eyes from the sun, forcing himself to adjust to the brighter light as they all turn to watch the cars pulling up in convoy, legs dangling from the sides of the vehicle. They're the legs of girls, of women, Lucas can tell, and judging by the shouting, so can the rest of the guys.

"Nurses." One guy turns to Lucas to say. "They say the Red Cross back home deployed them to help here."

"Here?" Lucas asks. It's a bad enough place for the men to be, yet to have pretty young women among them ready to take care of any casualties tells them all that their battle isn't far away.

"Yeah here!" He exclaims, brown eyes wide with excitement. Lucas concludes that he must not have a girl back home. "I hope they sent pretty ones."

Lucas simply watches silently as the cars pull up to a stop, and the girls are helped down by the dirty hands of many men with a keen interest in them. Their skirts match, their aprons too, brilliant white to match the skin of many. He offers a smile, directed at nobody in particular, yet it's returned warmly by a young girl, perhaps a year or so younger than himself, with honey coloured hair and large brown eyes.

The girls set about chatting among themselves, answering questions from the men who want to know their names and their ages, and which towns they've come from back home. Many are from the South, Lucas gathers by their accent and friendly demeanour, a frequent sound of the word "ya'll."

They've brought medical supplies, and tents to set back behind the trenches, hidden partly by the trees nearby. Lucas figures that the shade provided will make the conditions better for those being treated, and hopefully prevent the nurses from immediate danger.

-

Lucas takes his blanket, covering his head with it as his fingers rip open the envelope addressed to him. He hasn't read a letter from anyone back home since he arrived here, and he's more than happy to see that it's Brooke's loopy handwriting inked on the paper.

_My dearest broody boy, _

_I hope you're keeping well out there, and I'm still counting on you to bring me something back when you come home. _

Lucas smiles a little to himself as he imagines what her face might be like if he didn't. He wonders what he could possibly bring her, because a dirty uniform and blankets would have no place in Brooke Davis' house. Her nose wrinkles up if she notices so much as a speck of dirt on her dress, so to bring her a dirty uniform would be pointless.

_I have news. After feeling a little light-headed these past few weeks, your Mother persuaded me to call the doctor. He told me that we are going to have a baby! Karen is overjoyed and has been constantly knitting vests and cardigans, and after scolding me a little for not being married, she hugged me and told me that we will make excellent parents. _

Lucas feels his eyes cloud over as Brooke's words sink in, and he realises that he'll miss out on their baby being born. He wonders whether he might gain a son or a daughter, and whom the baby might look like. He's more than glad that Brooke and his Mother have struck a great friendship, as her expertise on child-rearing will be much appreciated by Brooke who has never so much as held a baby before. Lucas finds a smile creeping across his lips then, as he thinks about what Brooke might be like had he been there.

_I truly hope that the war is over soon so that you can meet your child, and give me that wedding ring I should have on my hand! I'm missing you greatly, and I wish you all my love._

_Yours, Brooke xxx_

"Hey Scott!" Lucas is called by the voice he's come to identify as Smith. A man his own age, Tim Smith fails to act a day over sixteen, and is certainly impressed with the nurses deployed by the Red Cross back home. From the East Coast, much like Lucas, Tim, though not having discussed the fact with anyone, misses home a great deal. Lucas can tell by the look in his eyes every time he mentions Brooke or his home town, that Tim misses the comforts of home, and the familiarity of an area where he has grown up. Unlike Lucas however, Tim refers to himself as a charmer, a definite hit with the ladies, so much to Lucas' amusement, the smaller man has provided a lot of entertainment among the other men in the trenches.

"Coming." Lucas calls, folding Brooke's letter up, securing it not only inside of the envelope that it came in, but also inside the newspaper sent to him. He's decided to keep a diary or at least a log book of his time in Europe. He'll keep the writing hidden in the newspaper too.

There's a flurry of tarpaulin and dust flying up into the air as many men come together to erect medical and food supplies tents, the ladies with their pretty skirts and curled hair looking on.

"Come help us Luke!" Tim calls, a wink at one of the girls standing over with the pretty young nurse Lucas caught a smile from earlier. Prior to meeting his fellow soldiers, the only person to have ever called him 'Luke' was Brooke, adding that to her growing list of nicknames for him. He would love it when she called him _'handsome'_, because then it allowed him to refer to her as _'pretty girl', _watching the smile on her face grow until those dimples either side of her lips emerged and he could kiss each one.

-

Lucas can hear the soft hum of the nurses' voices singing sweet songs as they ladle hot soup into tin mugs, handing them out to the men hunched around a camp fire. They don't light wood often, it's seen as a potential target, a sign of just where the men are for the opposition. But word has come that the fighting is far away for now, and for the special arrival of the ladies deserves some commemoration. It's the first taste of soup Lucas has had had in weeks, yet he can't help but feel saddened that it doesn't taste one drop as good as the chicken broth his mother makes back home.

"There you go." She smiles, her eyes wide, honey hair slightly dishevelled, a mixture of the gathering Southerly winds and hard work from the earlier building of tents.

"Thanks." Lucas grants her a grateful smile as she hands him a bread roll, a little on the stale side, but filling enough none-the-less.

"I'm Haley." She tells him, offering her hand for Lucas to take. He does so, holding it a little loosely, perhaps too loosely as he tells her his name, and the small town of which he hails from.

"You're not quite as loud as some of the others." She muses, her eyes diverting to Tim, who Lucas can depict as the one telling the story of the time he met a working girl back home in Charleston. Lucas has heard the story too many times before, and he finds himself rolling his eyes at the excitement generated by such frivolous talk.

"I don't have as much to say." He tells her, shrugging, then suddenly remembering the manners and etiquette instilled in him by his parents. "I'm sorry, but I've just had a letter from my fiancé back home."

"Not bad news I hope?"

"Good news actually." Lucas smiles. "We're going to have a baby."

Haley gives him a warm smile, eyes bright in the flecks of firelight. "I'm happy for you. You must be so excited."

Lucas fails to reply before another voice takes over Tim's pleasure-filled story. He's come to identify this deeper voice as that of Jake Jagelski, the proud father of a one-year-old daughter Jennifer.

"Hey Scott! You working your charms already?"

The other men laugh, and as Lucas dips his helmet-covered head in embarrassment, Haley retorts "I'm too young for him anyway!"

This provokes yet more laughing, and the two join the other men and nurses at the fire, smirks and widened eyes exchanged between the soldiers. It's times like this when he wishes he was back at home the most, snuggled against Brooke with crocheted blankets and a log fire, safe in the comfort of a porch swing just watching the sunset, or on a cosy couch, tracing patterns against delicate skin.

But for Lucas Scott, the war hasn't yet begun.

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Please review :) xxx 


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N-** You guys thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I'm so cross at Chad MM right now because I watched an interview with him for some French show, and he made a total dig at the lovely Sophia. So I'm making Lucas nice in this story, (not an ass like he has become in the show) to cheer myself up. Haha hope you enjoy this chapter, and please review at the end :) xxx

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**These Arms**

Chapter 2

"_People in general are scared to death of the war, and all the exhibitions have been a failure, because the rich - don't want to buy anything."- Frida Kahlo _

It takes but a mere moment for her eyes to cloud over as she reads his words, large ones scrawled in slightly messy handwriting that she used to giggle at and make fun of when he'd be lying next to her. He didn't care that she made fun of him, and Brooke loved that. People used to tell her to respect the man that she was planning to marry, but she would simply roll her eyes, telling people that he needed to be kept in line.

_To my dear Brooke,_

_Hearing the news that we are going to have a baby gives me strength and courage every day. I can imagine he or she looking exactly like you, with those beautiful dimples and dark hair._

She only wishes that Lucas was here right now, his large rough hands on the soft skin of her stomach a contrast that she would find delightful. She remembers the day they first talked about having a baby, with her telling him that although she'd never actually held a small child before, it would be '_kind of fun to experiment.' _The bemused expression on Lucas' face after that had made her think that they should definitely be married before bringing a child into the world. It just hadn't happened that way.

_I expect you will be pleased to know that we have not as yet begun fighting out here, but the arrival of medical supplies means that the war is not far away. Many thanks for the newspaper. It provided excellent reading material in between digging the trenches we take cover in. _

She can't imagine quite what the living conditions are like for Lucas out in France, but she expects them to be as far away from the comforts of home life as they can be. Brooke forces herself to use her imagination to scold Lucas for catching even more of a tan on his already golden skin, running her fingertips along the few cuts that have formed from hard work as she giggles and passes him a bar of soap to clean his dirty fingernails.

Yet when she opens her eyes and the room is empty apart from her, Brooke is forced to accept this as her reality now, at least until the war is over. She doesn't know when that will be, but she has to hope it is soon, before the arrival of their child.

Her hand rests on her expanding stomach, which is hidden as best Brooke can behind less shapely dresses, cool fabric against her hot body. She hasn't quite figured out how she might hide her pregnancy in its latter stages, perhaps a different approach is needed. Her red lips curve into somewhat of a small smile as she reads Lucas' final words, and her hand shakes to hold the letter still.

_Please do not worry, and tell Mother that she can punish me all she wants when I return. Send her my love, and I truly hope to be holding you in my arms soon._

_All my love, Lucas._

-

She walks along the winding lane, thick hedgerows full with berries that have yet to ripen in the late Summer sun, her arms covered by a shawl brought back from California by her Father some months ago. Brooke tightens the strings of her bonnet, shielding her fair skin from the harsh rays of the sun which still continues to heat up the ground, even though the time is long after dinner.

After a while, a faint knocking reaches Brooke's ears, distant in the beginning, yet growing louder as she nears the gap in the hedgerow of which to enter the back of the house Lucas recently purchased as a home for himself and Brooke once they were married.

"Nathan?" She calls, reaching to her tip toes in order to peer over the slightly over-grown bushes that prevented her from nearing the house. The banging stops, and Nathan, Lucas' half-brother glares down at Brooke with a hammer still in his grip. "What are you doing here?" She asks, eyes curious as Nathan inches himself closer along the wooden beams.

"I thought I might do it as a favour for Lucas." He replies, shading his eyes from the sun as he looks down at Brooke in her blue dress and matching bonnet. "I didn't know you walked around here." Nathan makes his way to the top of the ladder, holding the sides of it tightly as he climbs down, his left leg taking much longer to move than his right.

Wartime has been somewhat of a disappointment for Nathan, Lucas had told Brooke before he left. His brother had been injured during his time operating heavy machinery in a motor car factory. A large piece of equipment had fallen on his left leg, crushing it against the concrete floor. The broken bone had never quite healed properly, which meant that Nathan now walked with a noticeable limp, his left leg much slower to move.

"I don't walk around here often." Brooke tells him once both legs are firmly on the ground. They take a seat on the steps at the back of the house, staring at a large expanse of grass that Brooke has no immediate plan for. Lucas had told her that they might make a pond, or leave the bottom of the yard for a vegetable plot so that they might grow enough food over the year to last them through Winter.

"I just fancied that the evening was nice, and that I might take a trip to see the house. Thought I might have some ideas for what colour to paint it." She says, laughing a little as those ideas have yet to come to her.

"I hope you don't mind my building." He smiles at her, skin golden just like that if his brother, his much darker hair a match for Brooke's. "I can stop if you like, just thought I might get a roof on that garage before the seasons change."

"Lucas would appreciate it." Brooke smiles back, her knees almost touching her chin. She's taken a fancy to sitting that way until her stomach grows too big for her to be able to do it, and sitting in a lady-like manner is of no importance to Lucas anyway. She figures Nathan might hold the same views.

"You miss him a lot huh?"

Brooke nods, a notably sad expression drawn across her face. "I thought I might have lots to do before the baby comes, but I realised I can't sew and I can't knit or crochet, and I can't cook for the life of me."

Nathan finds himself laughing, and Brooke's sad expression turns to one of humour. "I thought all women knew how to do those things."

"Hey!" She defends herself, bottom lip jutting out into somewhat of a pout until Nathan shakes his head, laughing much harder. "It's not like I haven't tried. My efforts seem to go without a desirable product."

Brooke finds herself comforted by Nathan's laughter, and the pretty scene in the arguably messy expanse of grass in front of them. She's glad of the season being Summer right now, knowing that things will grow much harder when the cold of Winter sets in, and she's unable to take walks much like the one she ended up here on.

There's something about Summer that makes Brooke happier, like the way the sky is illuminated beautifully by the sheet lightening at night, and the way that the air is always warm and smelling sweet, much like the expensive perfumes her father sometimes brings her when he returns home from California.

She remembers the Summers spent playing in the fields of long grass when she was much younger, conjuring up adventures with her best friend Rachel where they might take trips to the South by hitching lifts in motor cars owned by the rich. Sometimes they would sell lemonade Rachel's mother had made for them, drinking glasses of it when she wasn't looking.

She remembers the last Summer spent with Lucas, taking walks through fields of pretty flowers and picnicking by a river somewhere, eating marmalade sandwiches with cold ham, and sometimes lemon tarts for afters. Lucas would always drink cold milk, frowning when Brooke would laugh at him for the moustache left behind by the creamy liquid. She would screw her nose up when he wiped away the residue on his shirt sleeve, before kissing her to stop, kissing her nose afterwards with recognition for the few freckles that might have formed in the sun.

Sometimes they would simply lay on their backs among the tall grass in the fields, Brooke laid almost on top of Lucas so that her dress wouldn't get dirty, as they named the shapes of the clouds overhead. He would complain that she wasn't playing fair when she said each one looked like a sheep, and she would just state that he should let her win anyway because he was going to marry her one day.

"It's getting late." Brooke tells Nathan a little forlornly as she stands up, brushing the dust off of her dress before straightening her bonnet. "I should go home."

"I'll walk you." Nathan offers, grabbing onto the wall by the steps in order to pull himself up. "If you'd like?"

She smiles a little and nods, grateful for the company until she has to be at home by herself, her house never seeming so large until now.

-

"It doesn't look much like a scarf." Brooke pouts, staring miserably at the white wool that she's attempted to knit into an item of winter clothing. It has a few holes in it, and a knot here and there, resembling more of a lumpy mess than a scarf.

"Did you do it like I showed you?" Karen asks, rocking herself backwards and forwards in the wooden chair Keith had built for her as a birthday present last year. Her knitting needles don't stop moving at an alarmingly fast rate, even as she talks to Brooke and reads from the pattern she's following at the same time.

"I tried." Brooke replies, holding up her jumbled mess. "Knit one, erm, cast two?" She frowns, biting her bottom lip in confusion.

"Here." Karen's needles finally stop moving as she gets up from her chair, setting the blanket she was knitting on the cushion she had been previously sat on. Taking Brooke's scarf from her, she holds it delicately, showing Brooke slowly how to loop the wool correctly over the needle in order to pull it tight, not causing any knots.

"Now you try again." She instructs, nodding and smiling as her future daughter-in-law completes a stitch.

It has become a tradition now, that Brooke visits Karen once a day. With her own mother in California on business with her father, Karen is acting as somewhat of a substitute, much more informative and attentive than Brooke could have ever imagined her own mother to be. The women chat about fashions and Lucas of course, and the way that the weather is still so warm on a night. Brooke tells how she is grateful to have the amount of sun that they have had, even though it's difficult to shield her skin from it all the time.

Karen says how her skin has become much darker, and that she hopes for the Southerly winds to die down a little, as her hair is beginning to dry out, and the once silky-smoothness is being replaced by brittle tips and knots.

They discuss the baby, and possible names. Karen says that Laura is becoming a popular name. She knows of a few women that have picked that name over the past few months. Brooke says that she wants a name that Lucas will love, and that the two of them had never really discussed children much before, so she's not sure what to pick.

Brooke tells Karen of how she discovered Nathan building on their house, and that Lucas would appreciate the help if he knew.

"He's a nice man." Says Karen of her son's half-brother, the sad reality that he meant more to their father than Lucas hurting her as much as it does Brooke. Not one to dwell on the fact that he comes from a broken home, Lucas would tell Brooke how he was glad of his father leaving them anyway, because he got Keith as a better role model than he could ask for. Brooke wouldn't know quite how to reply, but would snuggle closer, burying hear head into his chest as he stroked her hair and she played with the buttons on his shirt.

"It's a shame that he couldn't go to war with Lucas." Karen tells Brooke. "They would have made a good team."

"He wanted to go." Brooke replies. "Lucas told me that he feels useless."

"I thought they might have a job for him." She says softly. "Maybe in the offices or to do with some sort of communications bureau."

"You need qualifications. Nathan only knows how to build."

"You'd think they would take what they could get." Karen replies somewhat crossly. "Folks are too fussy nowadays."

Brooke nods silently, continuing her knitting and expressing delight at managing a row of stitches with no faults.

But for a perfect row of stitches, Brooke is heading for fault in areas much greater than a white scarf.

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Please review guys, Gracie xxx 


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N- **As always, thank you so much for your reviews, and if you haven't read my new story 'Nude, With Calla Lilies' GO READ IT!!!! haha hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

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**These Arms**

Chapter 3

"_We pray to God that we will be saved, to return home or live the here after; bloody, dirt-covered men, we see everyday, as we yearn for those times of laughter." -Tom Zart_

He wonders what it might be like to have a hot shower. The only water they use is the drop allocated to each man for the brushing of his teeth in a morning, and Lucas is almost sure he's forgotten what feeling clean is like. He's glad that they don't have a mirror, because he thinks he might not like his reflection. The nurses tell them they should have razors soon, so they can have a shave.

He remembers Brooke running her fingertips across the stubble on his chin, letting her forehead rest against it when they would lay down, as she sighed contentedly to herself and he closed his eyes to her touch, a faint smell of lavender oil wafting across his nostrils. She would tell him how much she loved the roughness against her soft skin, but if he forgot to shave perhaps after a couple days, she would fain crossness, telling him that her lips would be there to kiss when he had shaved off the beard that was forming.

Brooke hates facial hair, says it's dirty and makes young men look unattractive. Lucas is glad she can't see him right now.

The days are shorter now. The sun fails to be quite as hot at midday as it had been previously, and Lucas is beginning to dread to arrival of Winter. Seasons change too fast, he's concluded, yet every minute he's spent in the foreign country has dragged too long.

"Hey Scott!" Tim yells down, Lucas' eyes closing involuntarily with exhaustion at hearing his name being called for yet more gossip or story-telling about women. Lucas has concluded the young man as being quite possibly emotionally incapable of committing to a girl, reasoning with himself that maybe it's the best thing. He's sure that the war might be much easier if he didn't have Brooke to worry about back home.

"You might want to see this."

As Lucas peers over the dry soil, soon to turn to mud in the cool Fall rain, he catches a row of men inching closer to one of the tents where shadows convey undressing.

"They sent the nurses more clothes for the Winter." Jake Jagelski tells him as he joins the group, feeling slightly embarrassed by the whole affair. He hadn't once spied on Brooke when she was undressing, so to do so on women he didn't know was more than shameful. Tim didn't seem to think so.

"I bet that Theresa has great jugs." He grins at Lucas, who turns away, disgusted at such talk from the young man. He knows he's not at fault, not really-he's just more of an excited boy wanting to discover and conquer things.

Yet still, Lucas turns his face back towards the tent, the women inside well aware of their growing audience. The clothes must be tried on and amendments made to the size of them now before the fighting and the cold sets in. Tim is essential out here, and any time wasted is because of fools. His eyes flit back to Tim occasionally, who continues to grin and lick his lips, not knowing which of the women is Theresa, but not caring too much anyway.

Lucas manages to pick out Haley, the bun in her hair giving her away. He watches her shadow as she removes the cotton dress she was previously wearing after untying her white apron. Her meticulous nature shows as she folds the garment, even though only discarding it for a few minutes before she slips the heavier material over her head, the bun falling out of its fastening slowly, revealing shoulder-length hair.

"Thought you had a fiancé back home Scott?" Someone calls, joking of course, yet fully reminding Lucas why he should not be behaving like a school child. He dips his head, army shirt sleeve mopping his brow as his cheeks flush and a few guys laugh.

"He can look." Someone else calls, before adding "I sure as Hell am."

More laughing, and when Lucas looks back at the shadows, he can no longer pick out Haley among the other girls forming a circle behind the tarpaulin. But they emerge a few seconds later, grey dresses weighing them down as hair dances in the wind and tanned arms sweep strands behind respective ears.

"What do you think boys?" Theresa asks, a wink for Tim who looks like he might fall over as Haley offers Lucas a small smile in a hope to relieve some of the embarrassment of one of the soldier's earlier comments.

"Couldn't you have made them shorter?" Jake chuckles, high-fiving one of the men next to him as childish behaviour resumes.

The women pull and pinch spare material, debating with each other whether or not to add a few more stitches to gather the material more, or whether to leave the dresses as they are, allowing room for possible weight gain on the stodgy food they will have to live on over the Winter.

-

It's darker earlier now, the nights cooler as the occasional fire dies out, and all retire to bed, soldiers to the trenches, and the women to warmer tents set further away between the trees.

Lucas wanders towards the edge of camp, the calling of nature forcing him to get up from what he is now used to calling a bed.

"Lucas?" A voice questions, the black sky unable to help him, identify its owner. He blinks as though it might help, turning around until he can make out a shape in the dark.

"Haley? What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep." She tells him, night dress blowing in the cooling wind. Lucas guesses she might be cold, and offers a tentative arm around her back, rubbing just enough to create some heat.

"Me neither." He replies, a small smile even though she can't see.

"You're missing her huh?" Haley asks softly with kind eyes that Lucas can't see.

"Yeah. She's just…"

"Not like anyone you've ever met?" She finishes, his arm on her back falling limp.

"Yeah." He nods sadly. "How'd you know?"

"I felt like that once." Haley tells him, Lucas' arm somewhat of a comfort to have around her. "I met a boy and he was going to war too. He was so excited about fighting for his country."

"What happened?" Lucas asks, his grip on the young nurse tightening a little.

"He caught pneumonia during the Winter. There was nothing the doctors could do, and one day he just went."

When Lucas enquires whether she thinks he might have been spared by God, Haley fails to respond, her shoulders drawn and tired.

"There are a lot of horrors in war." He tells her. "I wonder sometimes whether I'm doing the right thing by being here."

"You're fighting for your country." She replies simply. "If that isn't the right thing to do, I wouldn't know what is."

She leaves him then, walking away back to her tent until Lucas can no longer make out her shape in the dark. He wants to help her, make it all better but he knows there's nothing he can do.

-

Sometimes, he selfishly wishes that Brooke was out here too, helping the sick and distributing food around the many men, just so that he could see her face. He wonders whether she might have changed in appearance since he left her on the station platform, perhaps a new hairstyle or darker skin from the late Summer sun. Maybe her figure will be fuller from the baby, her breasts struggling to stay in the underwear she has due to gaining milk. Maybe her face will be rounder, her smile wider as she displays her growing stomach proudly, her hands resting on it as she talks excitedly about the new arrival.

Her latest letter suggests he begin to think of names, because she has no idea what to call him or her when they arrive. So far, Lucas can't think of any.

When he reaches his bed again, his hands grab for the newspaper and her photo, the two letters tucked safely in the middle section. He can't read the writing now-it's too dark, but he knows the photograph well enough to trace the outline of Brooke, and as his hands rest on the gloss, a single, silent tear escapes down his cheek.

And Lucas can only pray that he will be saved.

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Review review review guys :) xxx 


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N- **I know it's been a long time, but now I'm back into the updating swing of things, so here goes chapter four. Thanks a million for all of your lovely reviews last chapter, and hope you enjoy this :)

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**These Arms**

Chapter 4

"_What a cruel thing is war: to separate and destroy families and friends, and mar the purest joys and happiness God has granted us in this world." -Robert E. Lee._

"Hey Nathan." She calls, her left hand with it's small brass band on the fourth finger clutching a wicker basket covered with a cloth.

It takes him a while to climb down from the ladder, his left leg once again a little behind his right as he reaches the ground, a half smile cast across his face. "How are you?"

"Good." She nods, holding the basket up slightly. "I've been to pick the last of the blackberries. Karen said we might have enough to make a pie and some jam if I went some time this week. Leave it much longer and the frost will get them."

She hadn't been much of a cook before. In fact, she hadn't known as much as how to make cookies, let alone bake pies and make her own preserves. But she was to be a mother soon, and Karen had decided now was as good a time as any for Brooke to learn the basics, in time, figuring out her own way to make the foods she needs.

They had started with bread. She had watched as Karen had made the well in the bowl, ready to add the fresh milk drop by drop until all of the mixture came together to form a ball. Lucas' Mom had shown her how to kneed the dough, allowing air into it for it to rise in the oven so that it wasn't to be heavy or soggy.

It was the best damn bread Brooke had tasted.

"Pie sounds good." Nathan nods, pointing to his finished garage roof. "You see those tiles on there?"

Brooke nods, and her future brother-in-law explains his handy work.

"You won't get any water coming through there. Luke's car won't rust so much now."

She's glad of the roof being water-tight. The arrival of Fall has brought some wetter weather than they had been experiencing previously in Tree Hill, interpreted as the result of a storm down South, hot winds causing damage in Texas and through Louisiana. They'd read about the storm in the paper. They'd also read that fighting had begun on the Eastern Front, and Brooke's not sure whether she's glad that she knows Lucas is there. Karen says it's up to God who lives and who dies.

"Thanks Nathan." She tells him gratefully, admiring the finish of the garage. Now he's fixing the guttering of the main house, and Brooke can't imagine her days without the trip to visit him.

"You want something to drink?" He asks, remembering his manners. "There's some of the orange juice you left the other day."

"That'd be good." She replies, fingering the plain brass band on her fourth finger.

Karen had suggested some weeks ago that she might wear something along the lines of the band, as her growing stomach was beginning to show, and to have people making assumptions that she might be a working girl wouldn't be good. So taking the older woman's advice, Brooke had purchased the cheap band on a visit to town one afternoon, slipping it over her long fingers when she reached home again.

It didn't look right.

But she couldn't care about that now.

"You want shutters?" Nathan asks suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over the two of them as they stared at the expanse of grass from the back steps.

"Shutters?"

"On the windows. Blue ones maybe? Or green."

"You don't have to do all of this Nathan." She says softly. "I appreciate it, and if Luke knew, I'm positive he would too, but he'd tell you to take a break. It's not good for your…"

"Look." He tells her sharply. "I can't go out and fight for this country, for people like you, and yours and Luke's baby. But I can build them homes for when they come back. I want to do this."

Brooke's eyes focus on the grass, not daring to move for fear of patronising Nathan, or offering him the sympathy she knows he doesn't want. "Lucas likes blue."

"Blue it is."

-

There's no letter. Each time the mailman comes, he fails to deliver what she wants, apologising each time the hopeful smile falls from her face, replaced quickly by one she's forced across her lips. He knows she only wants to know Lucas is okay.

"Perhaps next week." She nods, loosing a tiny amount of hope each time one fails to arrive. The mailman can only offer an sympathetic smile, his aged face sad and tired. His grandsons are fighting out in Europe too.

Brooke can knit scarves now. Not just plain ones, but patterned ones too, edged with delicate lace she's saved from her fathers business trips to India and other eastern countries that she's never travelled to. The first one, she gave to Karen as a gift: orange wool with a navy pattern across the bottom, to bring out the eyes she passed on to her son.

It's too warm to wear Winter woollens yet, but Brooke felt a tear prick in each of her eyes when her future Mother-in-law wrapped the garment round her neck and demanded that when the first snow fell, Keith take her somewhere she could show it off.

"Do you think he's thinking about me?" Brooke asks the older woman at dinner one night, spooning some mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"Of course he is honey."

"Then why hasn't he written?"

"You don't know that he hasn't." Karen smiles sadly. "It might have gotten lost in the mail or been delivered to the wrong address."

"What if they're fighting?" She questions. "What if Lucas is hurt and we don't know? What if he's d…"

"Hey." Keith interrupts, his eyes kind and warm. "You think Lucas would let anything happen to himself, knowing that he's got you back home? Not to mention a baby to provide for."

Brooke nods slowly if a little unconvincingly as Keith gives her left hand a squeeze, rubbing his thumb over the brass band.

"And if he knew you had this on your finger, he'd be straight down here to put it right." He laughs, his other hand resting on Karen's knee.

"I'm sorry." Brooke apologises. "I just need him to be okay."

"He'll be fine."

-

"I got a letter!" Brooke runs into the garden, Nathan frowning at her from the bench he's cutting wood at. "From Lucas!" She shouts. "I got a letter."

"And he's okay?"

"He's fine." She beams. "And he says to save him some pie next time."

Nathan chuckles. "Luke always did like his food."

He stops sawing the plank of wood when Brooke hands him a soda she'd bought from the local store as a treat-one that she can't really afford but that can't matter to her. Money isn't something she'll worry about knowing that Lucas is alright.

"You know you don't have to worry." Nathan tells her, one hand one her knee for comfort as they sit on boxes next to each other. "Lucas will make sure everything is okay and if he can't for some reason, I'm here."

"Thanks Nathan." She whispers softly, a grateful smile for the brother of the man she loves more than anyone in the world.

"It's nothing."

She wraps her arms around him, face turned into the crook of his neck like she used to do sometimes with Lucas, back when she was tired and wanted him to carry her somewhere, or when there was something she didn't want to do.

"Well it means a lot."

They stay like that, not because Nathan needs to have someone's arms around him, but because Brooke needs to have the comfort she's missed for so long. It's not passionate and it's not love, and it's not what she really wants. But in that moment, it's what she needs to keep going, and if Nathan can be that person for her, then it's settled.

For a while, he'll have a purpose, and for that same time, she'll have security.

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Please review, I really appreciate them :) 


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N- **I know it's been forever and a day since I updated this story, but I've lacked a little focus as there haven't been so many reviews for this story as I used to get. I just hope I haven't been loosing readers? Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter :) xxx

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**These Arms**

Chapter 5 

He's not sure which is worse: the groaning of men in horrific pain, or seeing them laid dead, their eyes still open, guns laid beside them, blood and dirt splattered across their uniforms.

The nurses do all they can. Lucas isn't sure that it's fair for the men to yell that they must save each man they bring in, because they're loosing numbers fast in these guys are their friends. He can't forget Haley's face the day one of their men died from pneumonia.

It's definitely Winter now. The cold here isn't the same as what they're used to back home. The ground is always frozen, the air never warming, even during midday. Their boots are hard, and Lucas has taken to sleeping with them on even when the fighting has subsided and they advance forward so that he won't have to feel the pain of trying to cram his swollen feet into steel-capped footwear. He tries everything he can to avoid pain of any kind.

"It makes me a coward." He tells Haley one day as she hands him a mug of steaming coffee, the first hot drink he's had in months. The fighting has subsided for now, they've inched forward a couple towns, many men fewer than they had started out, but with enough still to do the job. For now.

"Luke, you're out here fighting for your country. Nothing can make you a coward."

"I watched Fergie get shot out in the open while I was taking cover behind a damn wall. I could have saved him."

"You think Fergie would have wanted you to get shot too? He's fine Lucas, look." Haley smiled over at the man flirting with another of the nurses. He always says how lucky he is not to have family back home.

"But what about another time? He might not make it then."

"You don't fight to be a hero Lucas." Haley tells him softly, taking a seat beside him. "You defend your country."

They'd both come to treasure the days that the men didn't have to fight, and they could sit around a fire instead, drinking and talking as if a war wasn't going on around them. Days like this are scarce though, and if they get one a season, Lucas is still grateful.

Haley shivers in the cold air, her breath creating patterns in front of her, her fingers stiffly curled around her tin mug in a bid to warm them up. She can't darn as fast as she used to now, and as Lucas offers her a small smile, he motions for her to move closer as he wraps his issued blanket around the two of them.

"Tell me about Brooke." She asks. "What she's like, how you two met."

A smile creeps across Lucas' face at the mention of his fiancé back home, and ignoring the shouts and whistles from a few of the other men, he proceeds to tell Haley everything he can remember about how the two of them used to be.

"She has dark brown hair." Lucas begins, handing Haley the photograph he keeps with him always. "And matching eyes that always shine whenever she gets excited about things. And she gets excited about everything." He chuckles, remembering the time they'd seen fireworks at a fairground. She'd seen them before, loads of times, but for every single bang she'd let out a scream, and clap her hands, and Lucas would just smile and watch her. Watching Brooke Davis beat fireworks any day.

"And she has these dimples." He carries on, tracing her face on the photograph. "You can't always see them, only when she smiles her proper smile, but they're there."

"She's beautiful." Haley tells him, moving just a little closer so that her shoulder just brushes Lucas' shirt.

"I met her when I was fixing her father's car. Brooke's family have lots of money, and she'd come with him, dressed in this perfect white dress for the Summer, and it had all this lace on it, white, everything was white."

Haley nods as he looks to her for whether she's getting bored by the story. "Keep going, I love hearing about how people meet."

"So I excused myself to move past her so that I could have a look at the engine, but she insisted on looking too, saying that her father would never let her drive a motor car, but perhaps if she knew a little about them, he might let her have a go. But when I lifted up the bonnet, the engine made a bang and frightened Brooke, and she jumped back, knocking over some oil."

"Not onto her dress?" Haley gasps, wide-eyed as Lucas starts to laugh.

"I thought she'd be real mad, but she just laughed and told me that now there was definitely no way her father would let her drive. So I whispered to her, when her father wasn't looking, that if she dropped by in couple days, I'd let her have a go in my car."

"Did you let her?"

"Course I did." Lucas smiles. "And then she drove into a hedge to avoid running over a bird. She scratched my car so that she didn't hurt a bird."

"Were you mad?" Haley asks, her eyes shutting as she listens to everything else Lucas has to say about Brooke Davis. She loves romance.

"I couldn't be mad at her. She just looked so pretty and so cute sitting there with her hands over her eyes that I couldn't say anything. Nobody could get mad at Brooke."

Haley takes a sip from her mug, her fingers still stiff and cold. She's beginning to wonder for how much longer she'll be able to do fine needlework, because it hurts to bend her fingers. She can only hope that they'll be back to normal by the Spring.

"You're lucky you know. To meet someone like her. Most people only watch love like that in the movies."

"I am." Lucas nods. "Lucky I mean. She can't cook. And she can't sew or knit or mend my clothes. But she's Brooke Davis, and she finds her way around everything."

"You'll make a great father Luke." Haley tells him, smiling. "She's lucky to have you too."

-

"What are you doing?" Haley asks him later, peering down into the trench he's been hiding in for the last few hours. Lucas hadn't noticed he'd been shivering, but the crumpled pieces of paper beside him have been occupying his mind anyway, so he hadn't had time to think about the temperature. On each piece, were the words '_Dear Brooke' _with a sentence or two following on from that. But he'd been unable to find the words to tell her just how much he was missing her.

"I can't do it any more Haley." He sighed, tucking the writing pad inside of the batch of newspapers he'd amassed as gifts from Brooke. "I can't write to her, it's just easier not to."

"And what's she going to think of you if you don't write to her?"

"I don't care." Lucas yells a little, covering his face. "I'd rather her hate me than miss me as much as I miss her. It's killing me Haley."

Hitching up her dress a little, Haley climbs down into the dirt, her boots sinking into the mud Lucas was sitting in. His body's too numb for him to care about dirt anymore.

"You think this war isn't hurting Brooke as much as you? She's got your child to bring up, possibly without you there for a while, and she still manages to write to you. You're the only one who gets a letter every time Lucas!"

He shakes his head, "You just don't get it." before climbing past her, joining the rest of the men by the fire as Haley simply stares down at the pile of letters Brooke has sent, without receiving a reply from Lucas.

-

He'd gladly go and work for hours on that house he still has to finish back home. He'd work until he was numb with cold, and wet with rain, his eyes sore from trying to hammer nails in the dark. He'd do it all with no sleep so that Brooke and the baby had a house to live in, even if it meant he couldn't see her until it was finished.

He'd paint their front door red, just like her own at her parents' house, and they could have shutters on the windows to match. He'd build Brooke the best damn house in the whole of Tree Hill.

They could have a back yard with a swing set and perhaps even a pond at the bottom. They could have a sun room, so that Brooke could enjoy the heat and the sun without damaging her skin. She always used to scold him for spending too much time outside, but she'd smile never mind, because she loved the way he looked with tanned skin and lighter hair, said it made his eyes stand out even more.

He'd build a porch, and a swing seat so that she could watch people go past, and enjoy the sunset at night. Perhaps his mom would knit them a blanket so that they could nap out there when it was cold. No doubt Brooke would fall asleep without it anyway, and he'd have to cover her body to stop her from catching a cold.

He'd do it all, and yet Lucas can't bring himself to write Brooke a letter.

It's well into the night now, Lucas can tell from the moon. He's begun to make it a ritual that he counts the stars to get to sleep. It's the only way to pass time when he's not fighting, and the peace without gun shots sounding seems to be louder than the sound of every man's gun shooting at once.

Nothing is working tonight though. Not counting the stars, not singing to himself, not imagining that he's laid with Brooke in his arms on that porch swing he'll make when he returns home. So he takes a walk, to nowhere in specific, just to get away from that trench.

"Haley?" he questions, finding a lone figure sat at the bench they had been occupying earlier in the day, when he'd told her everything about him and Brooke. It's only after he sits down beside her that he notices she's crying, even in the dark he can see it, the moon reflecting every tear on her cheek.

"Look I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't mean…I just…"

"I know." She nods. "It's okay."

"Then what is it that…"

She quickly wipes at the falling tears, sniffing as she replaces her cold hands back by her sides. If they get enough wool sent, she'll knit some thicker gloves to try and warm her hands up, even if it's just a little.

"Thinking about you and Brooke reminds me of what I lost, and I know I can't get him back now."

She tries to hush her sobs, but as Lucas pulls her a little closer, drawing his arm around her, everything Haley's tried to forget comes back. It never went away, she figures.

"Tell me about him." Lucas whispers softly. "What was his name? What was he like?"

"Joe." She replies quietly. "I didn't think much to him at first." She remembers. "He was cocky you know, thought a little too much of himself and expected me to do the same."

"You must have liked him a little?" Lucas chuckles slightly, half out of politeness. He's not sure what Haley wants him to think.

"His brother was dating one of my friends, so he found out where I lived, and every day, he'd sit on my porch step until either I came out of the house, or my father found him and sent him away. My father said he wasn't good enough for me, but my mother said that ay man who would sit outside our house for hours every day was worth a chance."

Lucas nods, silently recalling the days he'd sneak to Brooke's house when her father was out, so that they could steal kisses together behind a cluster of trees by one of the front windows.

"On our first date, he listed all of the reasons I should go out with him. One of them was that he was the best-looking man I'd ever meet."

"And was he?" Lucas asks.

"He was gorgeous, but I didn't want to admit it, so I told him that if he's been less cocky, I might have given him a chance."

"And then what did he say?"

"He said that I'd already given him a chance, because we wouldn't have been out for dinner if I hadn't." Haley laughs a little. "So we made a bet. There was this basketball court across the street from where we were eating, so I told him that if he could score from the halfway line, blindfolded, I'd go out with him again."

"That'd be one hell of a shot." Lucas muses.

"He knew he'd scored before I even took the blindfold back off him, and after he'd told me that he was the star player on his high school team, he told me he couldn't have wished for a better bet. And then he said I wouldn't meet anyone like him again, but it was my choice as to whether he took me on a second date. After all, it wasn't exactly a fair bet."

"So I guess he was right?"

Haley nods. "I never met anyone else like him, and after he died, I joined to come here. I thought it would be sort of a deal with God that because he couldn't fight for his country, I'd come out here and nurse the men that were instead."

"You didn't have to do that Haley." Lucas tells her.

"I know. But he was going to make a sacrifice for his country, and he wasn't able to do it, so I did instead. It makes me feel closer to him in some ways." She says. "Like talking to you."

"Are you saying I'm cocky?" Lucas asks, mock-offended.

She shakes her head, chuckling a little. "No. But you remind me of him a little."

"Is it the rugged good looks?" He jokes, stroking his growing beard as the two of them laugh.

Their lives weren't supposed to turn out like this, miles from the ones they loved. But for now at least, they had each other, and if that's all the two of them were grateful for, it was something.

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	7. Chapter 6

**A/N- **Okay, so to say that it's been a while would be an understatement, but while I have no assigments for uni, I'm trying to update as often as I can. So starting with my GG oneshots, I'm continuing with this, and it'll probably be NWCL next. Hope you guys enjoy, please review at the end (if you're still reading this...) xxx

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**These Arms**

Chapter 6

They hadn't made much of Christmas. Karen had, of course, sent her son a small package containing a fruit cake and some ginger ale, a couple packets of cigarettes and a bundle of newspapers she'd saved over the weeks of advent.

Brooke had made a card and sealed it inside an envelope before handing it to Karen to put inside the package. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted the woman to know what she'd written, but she liked to feel her relationship with Lucas was private, and so had included details of her growing stomach, possible name choices, and talk about the beautiful snow that had fallen upon the small town during the last week of November which had now given way to warmer air, resulting in the growth of crocuses and snowdrops and brilliant blue forget-me-nots.

Even though the Spring is establishing itself, the nights are still much longer than the days in more senses than one, as dawn rises well after eight and dusk falls well before six. She spends most of her time now with Nathan, learning much more about the man she'd hardly met before Lucas went to war. He likes to read, and to garden, but Brooke's learned that most of all, he likes to be of use to people.

Not being able to fight with his brother had eaten away at Nathan's self-worth, and Brooke had found it her duty to build that back up again, just as Nathan had found it his duty to build this house for his brother and the woman who was the mother of his child.

The shutters are in place (had been since the beginning of December) but have been left unpainted for fear of bigger jobs needing more attention. The roof is secure, both over the house and the garage, and Nathan had managed to straighten up the steps leading to the front porch, completing it with sanded railings.

Brooke's almost sure she's never seen a house as beautiful, even if it isn't finished yet, and every day she talks a walk down that pretty little lane, she can hear a saw or a hammer, or occasionally a drill sounding out into the air.

-

"Here." She hands Nathan a sandwich filled with homemade jam, _her _homemade jam as he smiles at her gratefully.

"Thanks."

They've stopped talking about the house now-Brooke just leaves it up to Nathan, who's begun to trust himself enough to build a family home that his brother would be proud of.

"You know, you probably shouldn't be outside. It's cold."

"Nathan you say that to me everyday." She laughs at him, shaking her head.

"Yeah, and every day you still come here and distract me with food. Luke wouldn't have let you leave the house if he'd been here."

"What use am I on my own in that house? I've knitted a hundred blankets and so has Karen, and I've made enough food to last a lifetime."

"Still, you should be resting."

Brooke shrugs, knowing that there's no way that she'd have stepped a foot outside if Lucas had been here. He'd have made her swear that she'd stay in bed, and he'd have placed everything that she could have possibly needed within reach so that there'd have been no need for her to get up.

But Lucas isn't here, he's too many miles away in a land she's probably never heard of, fighting a battle that she wishes wasn't there. And for as long as he's away, for as long as it's just her in her parents' house, she'll do what she wants, and she'll go where she wants because there's nobody to tell her otherwise.

Nathan only tells her what he thinks she wants to hear.

Karen had told her that it won't be long before the baby comes, and so asked that if she must venture outside, not to go far in fear of needing help. She'd agreed, and for the past month she hasn't visited any of the nearby towns, and her walks have been reduced to as far as the old church on the hill at one side of Tree Hill, and the expanse of concrete by the river at the other side.

Each time she passes the church, she allows herself to sneak a glance at the list of men who she won't see again, the men who've lost their lives for her and her baby, fighting for the people of America to have a good future. She thanks God that none of those names read _Lucas Scott_.

Karen won't go. Says that she doesn't want to meet the mothers who've lost what she still has, and if that changes, she doesn't want to be the woman they all pity as she walks the long walk back down the hill. She's made Keith promise that he won't go either, and the man who raised Brooke's future husband has no choice but to wonder silently. It's only when Brooke gives him that tight smile that he can breath out again, knowing that his relief is somebody else's sorrow.

It's longer, the list, every time she passes, some days as many as ten men all from Tree Hill are listed, a good number often from neighbouring Raleigh, even more from Wilmington city. And by each man, their age; some too young to die, others too brave, all too unfair.

She doesn't patronise by comforting the crying women that she passes: it's not her place, she barely knows most of them, but she always offers the smallest of nods, and remembers to pray for all the girls who lost their husbands, the children who've lost fathers, and all the mother's who've lost sons.

The war has torn families apart. She tries not to wonder if it'll be her family next.

-

A couple weeks later, and the trees have gained blossom, their branches heavier and less defined as warmer winds sweep the pretty pink and white flowers through the air, petals gathering at the edges of the roads, forming a barrier between concrete and grass.

That same couple weeks later and she's gained a daughter; a beautiful healthy baby girl with blue eyes and a sweeping of dark hair. Evelyn Rose, Evie for short, looks too much like her father, and Brooke's cried every tear possible that Lucas isn't here to see her.

She hopes he can imagine just how beautiful their child is, how perfect every one of her fingers are, every one of her toes, the puckering of her mouth just before she cries, the long lashes of her eyes against her milky-white skin.

"She looks just like him." Nathan says quietly. He's promised himself that he'll be Evie's Keith until Lucas returns.

"I know."

"If you're not careful, she'll even have that squinty thing going on."

"Not if I can help it." Brooke laughs through her tears, gazing down at her baby girl. _Lucas'_ baby girl. _Their_ baby girl.

"She's beautiful Brooke." Nathan whispers, sub-consciously rubbing his leg. Since working throughout the Winter on the house, the pain in it had gotten worse, yet he wouldn't tell Brooke.

He'd be damned if he didn't finish that house now.

"Just like you."

She tilts her head towards him, a beaming smile as Evie coos in her arms, and before she realises what she's done, her lips are pressed against his, only lightly, but just enough for her to remember exactly what she's been missing.

The aching in her chest only gets worse.

She stays like that, her forehead resting against his, her eyes half closed, her arms warm and her chest soft as Nathan offers the gentlest of kisses for her lips. And for those few minutes, everything is perfect. But then she remembers that all of this is with the wrong person, and it's not guilt that crosses her, not fault on their part, but sadness, a kind of emptiness for what this should be, and just what it's not.

It's not salvation, not comfort. Only reality.

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	8. Chapter 7

**A/N-** Thank you so much for your reviews last chapter, and I'm so glad people are still reading :) Sorry it takes a while for me to update, but uni is killing me :(

Hope you enjoy, and please review :) xxx

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**These Arms**

Chapter 7

Lucas stuffs the papers in after the shirt. That way, if it rains, or if the back gets wet, the papers will stay dry. The writing on Brooke's letters won't smudge then, nor the ink on the photograph. So he stuffs in another unfolded shirt after that, the pare pair of pants, a pair of hand-knitted woollen socks.

Now that the Spring has come, Lucas has managed to prise the boots off of his feet, let the swelling settle a little, change his socks. The old ones smelt so much that not even boiling them could have salvaged them, and so they went on the fire as Haley laughed, saying that there was nothing worse than a man with bad feet.

Lucas could thinks of lots worse than that.

His eyes flick to the sleeping men around him: Jake Jagelski who he'd watched cry on numerous occasions while staring at the photograph of his daughter, Tim Smith who had finally managed to score with Theresa, Fergie, who had been nursed back to health, joking that if he got that much attention from the nurses every time he took a bullet, he'd have to do it more often.

All of them, every man, was braver than he was. None had run away. He was the first.

It was the letter that had confirmed his decision. There's a woman back home that he loves, that he needs, and that needs him, a little girl, a tiny, beautiful, precious baby girl that's spending her first moments in the world without a father, and Lucas can't stay a moment longer in the trenches he'd helped dig.

He's past caring that running away back home makes him a coward. He's past caring that he has no money, no map, no means of finding his way back to Tree hill, but he's damned if he doesn't try.

The fire went our long ago. He can still smell the smoke, means that it might still be faint for the eye to see, dangerous, yet he's past caring now because he's not part of this any more. The sky's black, cloudy, the air thick and warm so it's harder to breath now.

He hasn't been able to breathe properly for since a shard of metal landed in his chest a couple weeks ago. He though he'd managed to pull it out after taking cover behind a tree.

He doesn't want to wonder what might happen if that wasn't the case.

"Where are you going?" Haley hisses as he places his backpack at the other side of the barbed wire. He can tell it's her without having to look round, and suddenly he wishes he'd written a letter.

"I can't so this any more."

"You can't do what any more?"

"This." Lucas stresses. "I can't fight out here. I'm not good enough."

"So you're going to run away?"

He can hear the disappointment in her voice. It only makes him more determined to make it back home to Brooke.

"If it makes me a coward, so what? I can't do this anymore and I don't want to pretend that I can."

She looks at him for a while, not saying anything, just staring. And when she asks him to wait, he does, expecting her to thrust some food into his hand.

When she returns after a couple minutes with her own bag, Lucas wishes he'd never met her. Leaving would have been much easier.

"Haley, no."

"No what?"

"You can't come. It's too dangerous, it's…"

"I'm coming." She shrugs. "You can't go on your own."

"What about Joe? I thought you wanted to do this for him. I thought…"

"He'd have told me to go with you."

"But Haley…"

"I'm coming." She says firmly. "Now hurry up because we've wasted time arguing here."

And when she places her own bag at the other side of the wire, Lucas can't bring himself to look back.

-

The fields are thick was grass, with corn, with poppies growing redder by the day. They pass hedgerows thick with berries, stop to rest against them when one or the other gets a little tired, picking a mushroom or two each from the clumps of them that grow in the shade beneath the leaves. Often, they find masses of wild strawberry plants growing near to where they figure the railway line runs, grabbing handfuls each, even though the fruits aren't yet quite ripe enough to be sweet.

Lucas has never felt so alive.

They'd stopped at a tiny stream the other day, spent a whole afternoon with their feet in the water, simply talking about what they'd do when they got back home, where they'd go, who they'd see.

His beard's getting longer again, scruffier, itchier. He knows he has to find a razor before going back to tree hill. Brooke would never jump into his arms if he looked like a monster.

Haley just tells him that he looks like a man.

They use Lucas' compass to head north, trying to find the nearest town to at least figure out where they are. He's sure they're still in France, but he's not 100 of anything anymore.

Haley tells him that as long as they're not near Italy, they should be fine. Lucas guesses though, that nothing is fine anymore.

The sun is hot. Not Spring-time hot, but midst-of-Summer hot, and when Haley has to excuse herself, removing her stockings before rolling her skirt up so that the hemline rests above her knees, Lucas takes off his shirt, pressing it into the backpack he carries by his side.

Every day, he checks that the papers are still there, the photographs, the letters. And then he rolls them all back up again, tucking shirts in around them so that they'll stay dry in event of rain.

"Do you think you should write to Brooke?" Haley asks as they rest beside the hedgerow in a field full of corn. "So she knows you're coming."

"We'll be a long time yet." He says evasively.

"But what if something happens? She won't know…"

"It wont." He answers quickly. "I promised her I'd marry her. And I intend to keep that promise."

"But Luke…"

"No." He shakes his head. "I'm going home."

And they walk then in silence, legs heavy, breathing laboured, lips dry as the afternoon tumbles into evening, the insects playing in the air as the two of them squint at the lights of a small town far ahead.

It's a long way to home.

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